


Just His

by Fweeble



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Damian just wants something his, M/M, Mild Angst, just his an no one else's, prompt: possessive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 02:44:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fweeble/pseuds/Fweeble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Damian ever wanted was something of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just His

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rahndom](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=rahndom).



> Birthday fic for the darling Rahndom on tumblr. <3

Damian is seven when he realizes there is nothing in the world that is just his.  
  
Everything that is ‘his’ also falls into the subset of ‘Grandfather’s’.  
  
The lairs he grew up in. His rooms, decorated with everything that had ever caught his whimsy, furnished lavishly –his favorite swords. His clothes, his favorite outfit, given to him as a reward for his first kill. The ninjas –the dark skinned woman who had played his wet nurse, the scarred man who had taught him to read, the boy in training who had been his sparring partner and almost-confidant. His mother.  
  
Even him.  
  
There isn’t one thing on the entire planet that was his and his alone.  
  
One hundred ninety-six thousand, nine hundred thirty-six square miles on this planet…  
  
…and not one thing is his.  
  
—  
  
When he turns ten, he is given a father.  
  
A man named Bruce Wayne.  
  
Damian thinks he has finally found the one thing that was his, meant to be his –  
  
Robin appears.   
  
The Robin _s_.  
  
And Damian learns.  
  
Of Dick, the circus brat, whose parents fell and were broken, only to be replaced with what was rightfully his. Of Jason, the street urchin, who had climbed too far and was burned when he fell for reaching for what he could not have. Of Tim, the usurper, who has until now, stolen his father’s attentions as his own.   
  
And, the greatest perpetrator of all:  
  
Gotham.  
  
She owns his father more thoroughly than Grandfather owns his ninjas, his devotion to her is deeper, more complete than anything else.  
  
She is a selfish mistress. She does not share her property with anyone else, and the few bits of Bruce Wayne that she leaves for what her property calls ‘family’ is barely enough for one person, let alone the legion that makes up his loved ones.   
  
There isn’t room for Damian; perhaps there was never room for him in this world.  
  
But there should be.  
  
Because he was born, because he exists –there should be somewhere for him, something purely  _his_.  
  
And that place, that person, is Bruce Wayne. Damian knows this. He will do anything to carve out a place that is his, just his, as it rightfully should.  
  
—  
  
When he is sixteen, Damian finally relinquishes his death grip on his father in order to reach out for something else.  
  
It’s tarnished, smudged and just bit dented; the hardships and trials of life has left its mark, chipping away until even the cracks are smoothened, like pebbles in a river.   
  
It’s not new, it’s not old, it’s not made for him.  
  
It’s imperfect and flawed and just a little broken.   
  
He’s never needed anything more.  
  
—  
  
Timothy Jackson Drake is his.  
  
He doesn’t just belong to Damian, but to many.  
  
Damian knows; just like his mother, his father, and even Dick, Tim will never be wholly and entirely his.   
  
But Tim is his, more his than anyone else’s.  
  
More, even, than Gotham’s.  
  
In the cover of darkness, tangled limbs and soft puffs of breath and steady heartbeats, Tim’s head tucked under his chin, dark strands tickling, Damian doesn’t have to share him with anyone.   
  
Tim is his alone.


End file.
